It's three thirty in the morning. From somewhere far off, I think I can hear my phone ringing. I attempt to build it into my dream...but I cannot.
Eventually it stops. I settle back into the downy comfort of sleep for a few precious seconds.
Then the ringing starts again.
I get out of bed, grumbling, threatening and stubbing my toe and stugger (a cross between "stumble" and "stagger") downstairs to the phone.
It's Larry Talbot.
"I have a splendid picture for your flickr site tomorrow," he tells me. "I think even Easy Rider will be impressed."
"It's three thirty in the morning," I growl. "What the *** is wrong with you?"
My complaint is met with silence. What I have just said is of no interest to Talbot.
"Go to your mailbox," he says. "There I have put the image for tomorrow."
We argue about this for a moment...then I hear a low guttural warning growl...and I set down the phone and go to the mailbox.
The image you see above is there. I pick up the phone again.
"What the heck is that?" I ask.
"It's an image of me. And it's what you call SOOC," he says. His chest used to puff out when he was a kid in the midst of saying something really stupid. I imagine it happening now.
"SOOC?" I ask, looking at the image.
"Absolutely."
"SOOC means 'Straight Out Of the Camera,'" I say.
"Indeed."
There is a silence between us. I hear a faint crackle on the phone line.
"Larry, there's no way this is SOOC. You've Photoshopped the snot out of this thing."
"Nope," he says. "SOOC. Even Olaf agrees."
I visualize Talbot's massive manservant/minion.
"It's not even actually very good Photoshop," I say finally. "If I put this up, people are gonna think I did it."
Silence. A sulky vaguely threatening silence.
I sigh.
"What's going on in this image?" I ask.
"I am looking outward, from the very computer screen into the lives of those around me," he says.
"Why?"
"Because I may yet take a stronger hand in the promotion of my words on your little flickr site," he says.
I bristle just a little at his description of 'my little flickr site' but I think of Olaf again.
"What are you going to do?" I ask.
"Perhaps I have already started," he says.
I press him for details...but he gives me none. He tells me that he has also included a fresh article from his ancient Helium writings...
HOW TO AVOID FIGHTS IN YOUR MARRIAGE
by L. Talbot
Being married is wonderful. Personally, I have been married eight and a half times. Fighting in marriage is inevitable. But it is in the arena of AVOIDING fights where the truly experienced husband shows his skill.
There are two phrases that are absolutely KEY to staying happily married.
"Yes, dear," is used when you see your spouse's face start to change colors, from a healthy pink to a menacing purple. At this point it may still be possible to avoid the head-spinning-around and things-being-thrown phase (otherwise known as DEFCON 7) a carefully rehearsed "Yes, dear" is the precise strategic strike that may avert disaster.
Any thinking male entering into any long-term relationship must take the "Yes, dear" gambit very seriously. Insert just the right measure of sincerity and humility. Practice in front of a mirror. One must not mewl like a kitten…or rage like a lion. One must make “Yes, dear” sound as though a thunderbolt from Heaven has just penetrated your thick skull with an epiphany…an unexpected understanding of your own dense-ness.
These two words must encompass a surrender with dignity, an understanding how of how far one has carelessly and willfully stomped over the very last vestige of tolerable behavior by wiping one’s hands on a clean towel whilst said hands were still dirty, or by failing to divine that a small book placed in the precise middle of the staircase has been put there so that you, great lout of male waste that you are, would carry it up and/or down the stairs…or even worse: that you, in an attempt to show initiative and to fake sensitivity, have carried it in the WRONG direction entirely.
Plan A is “Yes, dear” in which the wise husband carefully fabricates sensitivity.
Having said this, I must add that Plan A does not always work.
At times a fight is as unavoidable as a tropical storm. They get too big too fast. You can't fly around them and there is nowhere to hide.
She's mad and you're handy. Keep in mind that you have probably actually done (or not done) something that is very small in your eyes. This action (or inaction) may have actually taken place at any point over the previous thirty years.
It is very likely this is a thing you have done (or left undone) a number of times before and it has only now resulted in the prickly and extremely dangerous creature you now face. Don't even try to understand it.
Begin by NOT doing the following:
•Say "Where did THAT come from? We were talking about cheese. . ."
•Stop speaking altogether. This will be viewed as an effort on your part to escalate an already volatile situation
•Speak. No matter what you say (other than the Magic Phrase below) will be viewed as an effort on your part to escalate an already volatile situation
•Leave the room and/or house. This is a coward's way out and besides you will pay for it. Later.
•Attempt to hug her. If you do, you WILL wind up in traction.
•Begin stating your case and/or try to WIN the argument. (I chuckle at the very naivety of this notion.) Clearly, this is a Newbie- defining mistake. Experienced husbands know you will never actually win an argument. Never. Ever.
Your goal is to minimize the damage and restore peaceful relations before the game starts on TV. Be warned, men: unless you move quickly and decisively to stave off disaster there's no way you are getting fed.
The Magic Phrase (MP) is comprised of three carefully designed and tightly compacted apologies. They have been loaded into one package for maximum impact.
The MP: "You're right. It's my fault. I'm sorry."
These seven words that can be like a cooling balm on the open confrontation. It must sound sincere and heartfelt…or you're a dead man.
So do what I do: as you deliver these words think about your wife. Remind yourself of the way she looked the day you got married and of the last time you laughed together. Think of how her eyes light up when she smiles.
THEN (provided her claws have been retracted) hold her for a second.
Later when it's safe, consider what annoyed her to begin with. Think about it honestly. Chances are that on some level you were actually being a caveman. Or not.
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